Before I Wake
by FlightofFancy87
Summary: The Opera members live in suspense at every new story of the Opera Ghost, and Madame Giry has returned with a new member to the Ballet Corps...A past fic, including the first meetings of E&C. Please R&R!
1. Default Chapter

**(Disc: As much as I want to, I don't own the Phantom :( yet some characters as you will see are my own. The story is set before our beloved tale, when the first encounters of Christine and Erik begin. It's my own version and little bits of everyone's tales, ALW, Leroux, S.Kay, they all have influence, yet the films actors and glory is how I visualise it. But again, it's my own version! So if u wants to flame, Ill just have a bar-b-Q! p.s. I've not given up on A Thousand and One dreams, **

**I just might forget this idea if I don't start it! XXX)**

**Let the Phantasy begin!**

**- ---**

A blood curling scream echoed throughout the quiet Opera House. Dusk was setting upon Paris, and the nightly atmosphere was touching everyone as they had retired from a hard days work. Stage hands, musicians, dancers, singers, all had retired for another day ahead of them. A long night in panic was not what they had in mind.

Few peered from their dorms to look down the dark corridors, to maybe catch a glimpse of what was going on. Others had ran from their rooms and floors, searching for the source of the constant screaming. Some followed the crowd excitedly, jumping and whispering nervously. Others clung to each other, terrified of the dark shadows that were ever much a member of the Opera as they were. People ran about, causing chaos, waking the whole Opera, whether they chose to ignore the noise or not. It wasn't long till someone found the voice.

A girl, or a young woman, around 17, was huddled against a wall in a corridor, dark enough for anyone to get lost in, despite its narrow features. The crowd gathering round her held up lanterns and torches to see her better, and to cast frightened glances around themselves. The girl was clutching her head into her knees, her fingers grasping into her disarrayed hair forcefully, and she was shaking in horror. Nobody said anything for a while, not even to comfort her, as they saw the ghastly shade of white the girl had turned. It contrasted eerily with her dark black hair and eyes, which were now wide with sheer terror.

"Jeanette!"

An older girl, who was dressed in her nightgown, and strawberry hair plaited gracefully down her back. She fell to her knees, clutching the terrified girl by her shoulders. The dark haired girl, Jeanette, didn't look at her. She looked straight through her, her eyes still haunted by another vision. She murmured something under her breath, not audible to the crowd of excited and nervous Opera dwellers. They all leaned in closer to her, desperate to find out what had made the girl fall into this state. The older girl lifted Jeanette's head by her chin, trying to catch her eyes.

"Jean, what's the matter? What happened?" The girl asked frantically. Jeanette seemed to stare terrified at an unseen nightmare. Her lip quivered as she managed to gasp out a few words.

"I…..I …saw….I saw….death… I thought…I would die!"

She finally broke into sobs, clutching her knees to her eyes. The older ballet dancer rubbed her shoulders sympathetically, with a scared look on her face for a brief moment. Then she stood up with a commanding air. She cast a glance around at the excited crowd of spectators, and put on a stern voice.

"Now that's enough, there's nothing to see. Go back to your dorms; she has just had a nightmare." She was hardly convinced with her own words. No nightmare could do this to a girl of such age. She seemed terrified out of senses. But the older girl was convincing enough for a few disappointed stage hands and dancers to drift away from the scene, talking in low voices, and walking a little faster than usual. A few girls still remained though, clutching each other, with expressions of genuine fear.

"You as well." The older girl demanded. "Madame Giry is due back tomorrow, and you don't want her to see you black eyes with tiredness, do you? She will not be pleased at all!"

But the young dancers hung back. One of the youngest, a tiny little girl, around 6 or 7, piped up.

"We want to wait for you, Marie! We are too scared to go back on our own!" She twiddled her golden locks nervously. "And Mamon will not be angry if we explain what happened!"

Marie smiled slightly. "Ok, I will take you back. And we will not be plaguing you mother will these tales tomorrow, Megan. I think she will be quite tired, and will not be in a mood for stories of this night. I think it best we just retire to our dorms, and get some sleep."

Marie had mostly carried Jeanette back up the stairs to the ballet corps's dorms. Jeanette had babbled some more things, without making sense, and the straggling dancers, who huddled around Marie for comfort, had yelped once or twice at the shadows that tormented them so as they past the mirrors and corners of the Opera house.

Marie had delivered the younger girls back to their rooms, with words of comfort to sooth the nightmares, and words of sternness about the day ahead of them. She then carried the shaking Jeanette and led the older girls back to their room. She out Jeanette on her bed, where she sat rigid, and Marie lit some candles and lanterns to cast a light in the room. The girls huddled into their beds, sitting upright and glancing at each other nervously as Marie helped Jeanette back into bed. The girl was slowly beginning to calm down, yet the tears continued to pour from her swollen eyes. Marie pushed the hair from her face gently and spoke softly.

"Jean, what happened? Why are you so afraid? Are you hurt?"

Jeanette finally raised her dark, fearful eyes to Marie's blue ones. She looked directly at her, as if scanning her for answers to what she had witnessed. Marie was quite a taken back by the deep terror rooted in the girl's eyes. Jeanette choked out her last words before falling into a troubled sleep.

"It was…I don't know…not human…it took human form, yet it…its…" She touched her face gingerly. "…its face…was that of the devil! And then it…disappeared! It was like a ghost…a ghost from hell!"

The girls in the room gasped and squealed slightly, some ducking under the covers, and some hiding their faces. Others, like Marie, just gaped at the terrified girl.

Marie stroked the girl's cheek while she drifted off. Marie tried to convince herself the girl had been in a nightmare sleepwalk, and had seen the ghastly vision disappear as she woke. Yes, this had to be the explanation for it. It couldn't have been a ghost!

These thoughts of comfort and logic all disappeared as Marie made her way to her own room. Her lantern was of little use in the threatening, windowless corridors, were the darkness engulfed her like a claw. It chased faster than she could pace down the hall, and she felt her heart quiver in the last steps, when she broke out into a run as she glimpsed her door. She fell against it, heart pounding. The eerie sense of an unseen follower still lingered behind her, and she felt the small hairs on the back of her neck prick up in response. She quietly opened the door, and sneaked in, trying to not make a sound as to wake the other girls. As she cast a final glance back down the corridor as she closed the door, whether it be her imagination, or a trick of the light, the image she saw haunted her sleep that night. She caught a shadow retreating quickly around the corner, the snatch of the end of a cloak, and the figure of a man suddenly disappearing from sight, into the darkness…


	2. The tour

"Places, everybody, places! Quiet down back there! Ready? And…"

Reyer shouted unaffectedly at the rehearsals. Some of the company listened attentively, swinging straight into practise, and hitting their cues straight away. But there was the bedlam of noise behind them, and the disarray of attention that brought rehearsals of 'I Due Foscari' to a halt. The composer sighed into his music table, and gave up trying. He would wait for Madame Giry to return. Only she could put her foot down in times like this. Some singers went into a rant at the others who were not concentrating on the task at hand, and an argument broke out on stage. Reyer dragged himself in the middle, trying to calm the situation down and try to make everyone focused.

Stage hands had gathered with the older dancers, usually to flirt with the pretty women of the corps, and costume and make up women usually chatted close to the strong male dancers. But today, the crowds mixed widely, and gossip raged loudly and in whispers about the night before. Some had large bags under their eyes as a sign of lack of sleep due to the excitement, others where fresh faced and intrigued; the ones who had ignored or slept through the chaos. Never the less, no matter who you were at that time, you were likely to hear one version of the story or another, each as outrageous as the last.

"I heard a skeleton-like figure grabbed her and threatened to kill us all!" A terribly skinny girl squeaked. "I know, I was in the room next to hers!"

"That's nonsense!" A props boy shouted back. "It was one of the rigging crew playing a practical joke! You're all being stupid."

"I am not!" The sickly girl frowned back. "Ask Marie, she was there!"

Marie had tried to stay out of conversations that morning. She was tired after a wakeful night, and she was still anxious about the young girl, Jeanette, who she had left to stay in bed that morning. Marie had waited for morning desperately that night, finding herself as afraid as the others. Yet, she refused to admit this to anyone. It had to be imagination running away with her. Ghosts were not real!

"Marie! Marie! Tell them, you were there last night! What did Jean see?"

Faces all had turned to her now and a silence filled the auditorium. She frowned slightly at her own silly thoughts. Her eyes fluttered around the seating area, as if in defiance to anything that lurked out there. She tried not to look at the dark boxes above them.

"Jean had a nightmare, that's all." She raised her voice, much to the disappointment of others, who craved a good story. "It was just her imagination."

Some nodded in agreement, hastily ready to banish all ideas of a ghost. Others looked to the floor, abashed at their dented excitement. But one voice spoke up for them.

"Well, how does that explain old Percy Jennings? Was his ordeal just imagination?"

Everyone cast their gaze up towards the rafters above them, where the backdrops and scene changes took places. There, a red faced man leered down at them. Joseph Bucket, a lecherous man who little would claim to like, yet the man had a quality of story telling, which a lot of the members found enthralling, while others would be terrified out there wits by his voice. He smirked down at them from the shadows. Marie frowned and pointed a finger upwards.

"That was an accident, Bucket, and you know it." Her voice quivered with uncertainty, which many did not fail to hear. They all cast nervous glances at each other. Old Percy Jennings was one of many caretakers at the Opera House, and he had been a liked member of the Opera for many years. His good nose for direction and trouble had always caught a Ballet dancer trying to play hooky, or a singer and stage hand in a situation that they shouldn't have been. But one day, his sense of direction seemed to have failed him, and one morning he was found sprawled at the bottom of a winding staircase. His death was not what had caused sparking rumours; it was the nature of it. He had been found with a look of pure terror imprinted on his once gentle features, and he had curious angry red and blue marks around his neck. A death by accident was beginning to be questioned, and Joseph Bucket had taken full advantage of the story into scaring the young girls, who would wake at night, fully convinced the Opera Ghost had tried to kill them in the night.

Marie, being one of the eldest dancers, had taken responsibility for looking after the younger members of the Corps, and was trusted by Madame Giry with conduct while she was away. It seems though, it light of the trouble, she was failing at her task. She became quite angry, and raised her voice for all to hear.

"Listen, all of you! There is no Opera Ghost, and there will soon be no Opera if you all don't start working soon! Please, can we get back to rehearsals?"

A few singers snorted in her direction, unimpressed at a dancer trying to tell them what to do. Their leading soprano, the new Carlotta Giudicelli, had not arrived for rehearsals that morning. Nor did she plan to make an early start, as she seemed to plan her own rehearsal times for her own schedule. It had become quite a tedious task waiting for her to arrive, and with the absence of the manager and Ballet Mistress, it was close to pure chaos. But that was about to change with the clear ringing of a stern voice from across the other side of the auditorium.

"What, may I ask, is going on?"

Madame Giry was standing in the large door way where the audience would enter. She was still dressed in her travelling robes and bonnet, and she marched over to the stage confidently. Most of the ballet girls stood up straight and stood quietly, not wanting to have a telling off by the infamous ballet mistress.

"Mamon!"

The little golden haired girl ran to her mother, jumping from the stage, and out round the orchestra stalls. She ran right up to her mother, yet despite her excitement, held back in respect. "Was your trip ok, Mamon?"

"Oui, Mon cher, merci. Now get back on stage, I want to here what has been going on. Where is Monsieur Reyer?"

"Here, Madame Giry." He called back wearily. He waved from the crowd of arguers. She frowned in his direction, and cast an angry glance at the crowd on stage.

"Why are you not rehearsing? Has something caught your attention more than the Opera we are trying to perform for opening night next week?"

Reyer cast a shameful glance to his feet, then an accusing one at the crowd who shifted slightly in embarrassment to their silly outcries and squabbles. Madame Giry was not impressed.

"I suggest that you restart immediately! I do not want to hear any of your excuses. The manager will be hearing of your slack this morning!"

She marched her way on to the stage. She seemed to be clutching on to something behind her, and dragging its form quickly and roughly. When rehearsals began again, and when the dancers were not needed for a scene, she pulled them to the side. Marie was the one she addressed, while a few others gathered round attentively. The form had been a small girl. She was cowering behind Madame Giry's skirts, and she had to pull the girl quite forcefully to come into view of the large group of dancers. The girl dropped her head low in shyness. Her dark ringlets where tucked into a black bonnet, and the face that they could see was printed with visible sadness. Marie felt a deep sympathy go out for girl before hearing her story. Her face held such innocence, yet her eyes glowed with a pain which made her seem older beyond her years.

"This is Miss Christine Daae. She will be joining us in the Ballet Corps; I hope you will make her feel comfortable here. Megan?"

Meg ran up eagerly, and took the suitcase from her mother. Meg and Christine had met briefly on a few occasions, Madame Giry being a friend to Christine's father. Meg had travelled to Sweden a few times with her mother to visit the Daae family. But on this occasion, she had not let her accompany her. But Meg's disappointment had been dulled by the sudden arrival of Christine. She smiled happily, and led Christine to her own room, where she would be staying. Christine, however, did not seem as enthusiastic as the young Meg. She trooped after her sadly, as if in surrender.

Madame Giry pulled Marie aside as the dancers went back to their rehearsals.

"The girl has just lost her father." She whispered to her. Marie frowned. She had lost her father too, but only when she was very young, and could hardly remember. Her mother had become very overprotective of her, so she had decided to leave the suffocating life to live in the Opera. Her heart sank for the little Christine, and she gave a serious look to Madame Giry.

"I will keep an eye on her. I promise."

Madame Giry patted the girls shoulder gratefully, and retired to her dressing room. Marie watched the woman leave down the dark passage behind the stage. She seemed undaunted by the dark and shadows, and Marie envied her sensibility. She turned back to the stage, and joined in rehearsal.

---

Christine wanted to burst into tears with every second. One wrong thought and she would blub over into a mass of sobs. But now she was at the Opera House, she felt singled out, and very much on her own. She had talked with her father before on living and training in the Opera before his death, and she had become quiet accustom to it. She had always enjoyed watching the Operas in Sweden and the music her father would compose for them. But being here suddenly made her realize how singled out she was, knowing little of dancing and performing. All these girls were way ahead of her, and even with the guidance of her friend Meg, she would never feel a part of this Opera House.

Meg had pulled her all the way to the top floors of the Opera were the dancing quarter dorms where. She took her into a room which was quite draughty, and heaved her suitcase onto a bed.

"This is your bed Christine! Isn't it nice?"

It didn't look nice to Christine. She focused on it for a few seconds before dropping her eyes once more to the ground. The bed was next to a round window, with a fantastic view of the rooftops of Paris from it. You could also see the tip of a statue that littered the roof of the Opera House if you leaned slightly to look. The bed was surrounded with soft cloth drapes for privacy. It was quite quaint, but Christine failed to see the appeal

"Yes. It's nice." She replied in monotone.

Megs face fell slightly, and she put a comforting hand on the girls shoulder.

"Is there something wrong?"

Christine raised her head to her friend. _I've just lost the one meaning to my life. I just lost the most amazing best friend in the world. I have nothing left in my life but the promise I made to my father to let him live through the music I perform with._

"Nothing, Megan. I'm fine, really. I like the bed!" She tried to force a small smile. This seemed to perk the oblivious Meg up, and she started off once more.

"Come on then! I'll give you a tour of the Opera!"

Christine was really not feeling up to it, but the girl was bouncing about so much, and tugging at her arm, that she didn't protest. In fact, she was quite glad that she didn't in the end, for the Opera was an amazing experience.

Meg led her from the top floors of the dorms, pointing out where the male and female dancers were split, and then pointing out staircases that led to the upper tiers and rooftops, which she didn't take her too, as it was forbidden. She led her down more stairs to the singing and personnel quarters, where the manager, Madame Giry and La Carlotta held residence in their own rooms. The corridors on this floor were a lot more grand, and full of gold baroque décor. The walls where of a deep red colour, and where there were no windows, there were large candelabras, which cast eerie shadows on the walls and in corners.

She then led her to the level of boxes, where the grandeur of the Opera really came into play. The boxes, which Meg took Christine, were full of velvet red curtains and cushions, looking down grandly at the magnificent stage where the rehearsals were still underway.

Christine noticed a corridor leading around the corner, which would take them to the front of the stage boxes.

"Why can't we look down there? We will get a better view." Asked Christine. Meg shook her head.

"No, Mamon says they are private. No one has been down there for quite a while now, and Mamon would be angry if she found out we where even this close!"

She led Christine to the next level, and to the front of the Opera House. The magnificent entrance took Christine's breath away once, as she had done when she first arrived with Madame Giry. The grand staircase curved gracefully up to where they stood on one side of the regal entrance. The heavily decorated banisters and archways were awe inspiring and Christine didn't want to leave.

"If you think this is good, wait till you see the 'The foyer de la danse'!"

Christine now followed Meg willingly, and they raced down the marble staircase quickly. Meg led her through some amazing rooms and doors, up flights of small stairs, until they reached just beyond back stage. Huge doors sat in front of them, as if warning them what they were doing was not really allowed. But Meg ignored their silent protest, and pushed against them. Her eyes glinted as she turned back to Christine.

"Ready?"

When she swung open the large doors, she dragged Christine inside. Christine dropped her jaw. The room stretched as far as the length of the Opera, glittering in the sun which poured through the huge glass windows. The gold décor caught the light fantastically, heightening any somber mood. Christine had never seen such grandeur! It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen! The chandeliers graced the heavily decorated ceiling, and rails of red velvet stretched along the walls, a more luxurious ballet bar for balance.

"Amazing isn't it." Meg whispered, as if scared to break the beautiful room with the volume of her voice. "It's were the audience can come and meet the dancers of the Opera. There is a singer's foyer too, but it's no as grand as this. The singers are stuck up; they never leave their rooms until the performance!"

Christine hadn't heard her. She was completely in awe of the foyer, and she tiptoed along the slanted floor. The floor had its design to be like the slanted floor of the stage, so training in here would be like a reflection of the stage.

The two small girls must have been in the room for at least half an hour, until they heard something outside the doors next to them on the other side of the room, when they got there. It was distance, and shuffling, as if someone advancing or retreating towards them.

Megs face fell with dread.

"Mamon!" She whispered hysterically. The both bolted back to the other door which they had left slightly ajar, and ran through the adjacent rooms. They fell back to the corridor, were they were safe to be seen. They both panted, out of breath, and giggling slightly.

"Well….that was…fun!" Meg gasped, laughing. Christine smiled back. Yes, her mood had been heightened a lot, and her enjoyment of the tour had certainly lifted her spirits. She guessed she wouldn't feel so bad here after all, not in a home as grand as this.

"I wonder who it was?"

Meg had started to retreat down the corridor, to the other end of the foyer, where they had heard the footsteps. Christine jogged to catch up, and then they both walked carefully to the rooms where the shuffling had been heard. "They can't have gone very far. We have only been out the room for a few seconds."

The edged there way to the door, to peek around the frame to see who was waiting there for them, or trying to sneak about. Meg tried to suppress giggles at the thought of her mother pressing an ear to the door, trying to listen out for the culprits she had spotted walking into the foyer. Christine, on the other hand was feeling quite afraid. She didn't want to be shouted at on her first day here, and she knew that Madame Giry would not hold back of favoritism. Madame Giry was a kind, but very strict woman. She would have no trouble making an example out of her daughter and newcomer. She braced herself for the angry face awaiting them.

Meg backed herself against the open door, and peeped her head around the side. Christine waited for the giggles to come from Meg, and the angry tone of Madame Giry, yet Christine jumped as Meg gasped suddenly…


	3. Tales of a Phantom

"There's no one there."

Christine looked confused for a moment. She clutched her friends arm slightly.

"Are you sure? Maybe they have gone in the foyer."

Meg stepped into the pre-room before the entrance to the foyer. She was right, there was no one in the room. Meg moved to the doors of the back entrance to the foyer, and pushed on the frames. It didn't budge.

"Its locked…"

Christine was frowning slightly, but Meg turned to her with a look of terror. Her eyes widened, and she stepped slowly away from the doors.

"Meg, wha…what's wrong?"

Meg looked vacantly past her, and then scanned the room once more, checking behind statues and curtains. She returned and looked at Christine gravely.

"Christine, there was some one here. We heard them didn't we?"

Christine shrugged. "Well, maybe they were in a hurry…"

"We only left the room for a second! They couldn't have run out of the room down the corridor without us noticing!"

Christine was beginning to feel quite afraid at her friends hushed, but near hysterical voice. She moved closer to Meg and dropped her voice.

"Maybe…maybe it was…" She couldn't think of anything. They unmistakably heard something outside the door, like footsteps and rustling of clothes. It couldn't have been a draft or the movement of the curtains. But what was Meg so frightened about?

"A while back," Meg began, leading her away from the foyer and its grand corridors, ", there were rumours of mysterious goings on in the Opera. It was small, silly things at first, like a candelabra would go missing, or a cut out from the scenery. It started to become a joke in trying to find out who the culprit was, like, you know, one of the stage hands or something, trying to scare us all. I was very young, I hardly remember, but the missing objects started to turn into more serious happenings…"

Meg had started guiding them back up the winding staircases, up to their dorms. Christine listened intrigued to the dark story that Meg seemed ravelled up in. "There were sightings. There were sightings of shadows of a figure when no one was about. There were incidences, whether it was true or not, of people spotting a mysterious man lurking about backstage when rehearsals were taking place. They would vanish of course, as soon as anyone got too curious…" Meg was studying the interested, but sceptic look on Christine's features. "You don't believe in Ghosts?"

Christine thought for a moment. She wasn't sure really, but the idea of a ghost scared her, and denying its presence would be the easiest thing for her to do.

"No, not really. It was probably like you said, it was just someone playing a joke…"

"But one day, a year ago," Meg interrupted. "Someone was found…dead. Sprawled at the bottom of a staircase! Now," She ignored the raised eyebrow of Christine's, indicating a theory of an accident. "…people claimed he just fell by accident. But there was markings on his neck that looked suspiciously like…rope marks. And this man was not someone anyone wanted dead; he just had a curious nose. It seems to some, that he was punished for poking around in places that he shouldn't…"

Christine walked into the dorm room with Meg, and sat herself onto her bed next to her suitcase. She cocked her head to the side, in thought of Meg's tale of ghosts.

"It was only last night, Christine, that another sighting of the Phantom occurred."

_The Phantom? _Christine thought to herself. Surely there was no such thing. A Phantom of an Opera who tormented the members with curious sightings and death warnings? It seemed a little far fetched.

"Have you seen anything?" She asked Meg. The little golden haired girl shook her head.

"No, I haven't seen anything. But yet…what…or who did we just hear back at the foyer?"

--

_A few days later_

Although the younger members of the Ballet corps were not going to be involved in any Operas until a prime age, they were swung into practise straight away. Christine had been introduced to her first lesson a day into her stay at the Opera, and she was beginning to feel the strain. Her tiny legs and muscles ached feverishly, and with every move, her limbs would shake.

Christine felt out of place once again at these practises. Madame Giry was not taking these classes, as she was involved in helping for the new production to be ready for opening night in a few days. One of the older girls from the Corps had been instructed to take the younger dancers for the week, and she was doing a very tiring job. Her keenness to impress the ballet mistress reflected in how hard she pushed the little girls to perfect every move. The girls had been dancing all their lives, especially Megan, who shot gracefully and perfected through every move, followed by the envious eyes of Christine and the other girls. Christine had been corrected on many occasions and even having an example made of her.

"If anyone wants to end up as a road sweeper instead of a dancer, please take notes from Miss Daae's movements!"

Abashed, Christine had left the dancing foyer almost in tears. Meg had ran up to her and put a comforting arm around her.

"It gets a lot easier, Christine! It's your first days yet, don't worry! We have plenty of time to perfect ourselves until we perform in a real Opera!"

But Christine did not share her enthusiasm. The little girl walked toward a dark corridor on her own, to a place where Madame Giry had shown her the day before. A place were she would be undisturbed, and a place where she could let her emotions out.

The chapel was a small, cold room a few floors beneath ground level of the Opera. Its walls and floor were granite stone, and there was a small alter and stain glass window, proclaiming it reference to its name.

Christine slumped down onto the cold floor, and began removing her ballet slippers. Her feet were bruised and sore, and she massaged them gingerly. She looked up toward the alter, tears brimming to her eyes, and spilling down her porcelain cheeks. Her huge eyes looked completely heart broken as she spoke.

"Father…father, can you hear me? I am trying…I'm trying very hard for you, Papa. My feet hurt, and my head hurts a little, but I guess…I guess it's not too bad. Megan has been a great friend, papa, and Madame Giry is most kind. But I…I miss you…" The little girl curled up her knees and sobbed into them.

--

The soft cries echoed through the dark passage ways of the Opera. Secret passageways which hardly anyone knew about save a few. Only one wandered the dark haunts, shadowed with blackness of the windowless corridors, invisible to all whom past unaware of a mysterious presence so close by.

The cries travelled to a listener, who stopped at the sorrowful tune of loss. The noise was so recognisable, the sound of pain and hopelessness, that the heart would sink to hear it. A figure followed the sound of the mourning, keeping to a set path of secrecy, away from all populated areas of the Opera. The dark, damp corridor led directly in parallel to the Chapel, they only thing masking it was the stone wall framing the large stain glass window next to the alter. The figure kept to the side of the window, keeping to its favourite stance of stealth and silence. It listened carefully to the little girl, weeping in sorrow, then the small sniffs of bravery, then the tiny voice of hope.

"Father…I would be very glad of your help right now…oh…Angel…where are you? Where is my Angel of Music?"

The voice began to hum very quietly and broken at first, cracking with the sobs and tears of the later outburst. She soon proceeded by uttering words of a quiet song. The song became more audible, with a haunting melody accompanied by the prettiest of voices.

"_Father once spoke of an Angel,_

_I hope one day he'll appear._

_And when I sing I will sense him,_

_Being always near._

_Here in this room, _

_I call thee softly,_

_Come to my side, guide me._

_Someday I'll know, your always with me,_

_Taking my hand to lead."_

_Shhhhh_

The soft noise startled Christine, and she sat bolt upright. Her heart began pounding terribly, and her tears lay cold on her cheeks, forgotten. Her wide eyes darted around the room, while her body didn't move a muscle.

"Who…who's there?" She whispered. The soft soothing noise came again, causing the opposite to Christine's feelings, who stood upright in an instance, almost knocking the tray of candles down with her. Her heart fluttered wildly, yet her legs refused to run. She was frozen to the spot. She wrung her hands together in panic, and clenched her jaw.

…_Don't be afraid…tell me… why do you weep?_

The voice sounded so eerie yet beautiful to her. Christine wanted to cover her ears, and not listen to it, and run screaming from the chapel. Yet most of her wanted to listen to that voice again. She wanted to here again that velvety voice which made her arms tingle with goose bumps as soon as she heard it. She turned around slowly, trying to locate the source of the gentle voice.

"Who is that? Where are you?" She said a little more loudly, yet not anywhere near confidently. She waited a while for the answer.

…_I am here to listen, young one…I am here to help…_

"Well…I…I don't know if I should…I shouldn't talk to someone…I...I don't know."

The voice replied once more, causing Christine to gasp at its wonderful soothing sensation it had on her, like her fathers did. She felt her sorrow slip away bit by bit as the voice echoed through the room.

…_I'm here…do not be afraid…sorrow passes with reflection…share your thoughts…_

Christine soon found herself talking none stop about her father, her arrival at the Opera, her promise to her father, and his promise to her…to send her the Angel of Music to watch over her. She had talked so passionately and tearfully about her wish for the angel to come to guide her like her father had said, she had spoke for at least half and hour through spells of tears and anger and despair. She had soon found that her fear had past into wonderment for the mysterious voice, and she found herself wanting to stay and listen forever to its deep heavenly richness…

_Heavenly?_ Christine stopped mid sentence. Her eyes grew wide, and her mouth opened slightly. She stood in the centre of the chapel, and hugged her arms around herself. She braced herself.

"Are you…are you my Angel?"

The voice did not reply for a long time. Christine waited in anticipation, her eyes forever scanning the room for a sign of a presence. There was none.

_...I must leave you, little one. But do not fret, I will be watching over you…_

Soon, Christine was left to the silence of the chapel. She had waited for a long time before leaving the cold stone room, and glancing back a few times before completely leaving. Suddenly as she was outside, her fear came flooding back. She remembered the tales that Meg had told her about the Opera Ghost, and she felt the blood drain from her face. She bolted up the staircases towards the dorms, heart pounding and bile gathering in her mouth. Her mind raced with thoughts of a figure chasing her from behind, causing her legs to feel like jelly, and her back feeling very vulnerable. She spun around plenty of times to check behind her, before finally colliding with a large figure. She screamed.

"Oh my, Miss Daae, is there a need for such commotion?"

It was Madame Giry. She straightened her clothes and touched her hair slightly to check all was in place. Christine stared up at her with wide eyes, gasping for breath, and bowing apologetically.

"Im sorry, Madame, I truly am! I was just…I was…"

She cast a fearful glance behind her, oblivious to the curious stare she was receiving from Madame Giry. She lifted up the 7 years olds chin softly to meet her eyes.

"What have you seen child?"

Christine held her gaze for a moment, before shaking her head. She decided declaring her madness to Madame Giry was the last thing she wanted after a terrible day at rehearsals.

"Nothing…" She panted. "Nothing at all."

Madame Giry stared at her curiously for a long time. She snapped out of it suddenly and ushered her up a staircase up towards her room.

"Now then, up to bed with you. Your singing practice starts tomorrow, all dancers must be able to sing chorus too! Vite vite!"

Madame Giry watched the small girl scamper up the stairs quicker than usual. She frowned and began to make her way to the lower tiers of the Opera. Her thoughts strayed to the fear she had seen rooted in the little girl's eyes, fear she had seen before in others eyes, when a mysterious presence had made themselves known for a short period. Madame Giry was not about to let this girl become a victim to the terrors, for all the terror Christine had been through already.

Madame Giry glanced around her before disappearing around a dark corner. She would not want anyone to see or follow her to the place where she would be settling a few ground rules that night…


	4. Submission

Christine sat in the circle of girls in the middle of singing practice. Some of the more trained singers where taking a more advanced lesson at one end of the room, so the others were left to their quiet talking. They were all gathered in a gossip circle, where each of them were talking about different stories. Older girls were bragging about their rich courtiers who had taken a fancy to them, while others slandered the new Prima, Carlotta. Yet, it wasn't long till Meg had piped up about the ordeal with Christine in the dancing foyer a few days back. Many had heard the story a few times over, yet others listened attentively, hanging on her every word.

"…there was defiantly someone there! We ran around to see who it was, and they had disappeared! We defiantly heard like a clock moving and heavy breathing, didn't we Christine?"

_No, not really. _"Yes, something like that."

For the past few nights, Christine had not slept. Her mind had been overtaken by the voice she had heard in the Chapel that night. It had haunted her thoughts and made her a very quiet girl in the days. Not that anyone noticed. Everyone had now heard of Christine's loss by now, so they all took it for mourning, too embarrassed to comfort her about it. They would rather talk on other matters. Christine had debated whether she should tell Meg or not, one afternoon, almost blabbing all as Meg told her of props boy who had heard laughing coming from one of the lower floors of the Opera. But her curious side had held her back. She had been terrified of what she heard, yet actually craved it again. She had spilt all of her emotions out to the mysterious presence, and it had listened comfortingly. Could it have been the Angel her father had promised her?

These thought had consumed her all day, to the arrival of night, when all where in bed. She slipped quietly out of the dorms into the corridor, and made her way silently down the staircases. She held a small candle in her tiny cold fingers for the weakest of light that it cast, just a few yards in front of her. She tried to ignore the flickering shadows that chased her cruelly down the corridor. Her heart was beating in her mouth, and one tiny creak of a noise made her leap from the floor in fright.

On descending down the last flight of stairs, she came to the corridor, where the Chapel lay ahead of her. Its archway beckoned to her, and she found herself quickly at the top of the small set of stairs leading to the belly of the dark room. Christine tiptoed down the cold stone stairs, and placed the candle in one of the candelabra holders. She then stood in the centre, pulling her hands over her arms to keep herself warm, and for comfort.

"Angel of Music…" She whispered. She waited for a time, and then repeated. Nothing. She stood, turning around slowly, her eyes scanning the dark room. Still nothing.

_See, Christine. It was just your silly imagination. There was no voice._

Christine became angrily upset with herself, and let hot tears fall down her cheeks. How could she have been so stupid? There was no Angel of Music, or at least, not one for her.

She began to move in defeat towards the exit.

…_Wandering child, so lost, so helpless, yearning for my guidance…_

The sweet song travelled to Christine's ears so welcomingly, she spun round, and to her surprise, was beaming.

"I knew it!" She whispered loudly. "I knew you would come back!"

The voice spoke to her softly and kindly, almost a total reflection on how Christine wanted to be spoken to at that moment. It had to be an Angel.

…_And I knew you would return to me…tell me, why do you wish my presence this night?..._

Christine wasn't sure. It was really for confirmation that the voice had not been a product of her tormented imagination, but now she was here, all she wanted to do was talk and listen. She talked about how she did not enjoy the first few days of ballet training, and how much ahead the other girls were to her. The voice had been re-assuring in telling her she would improve, until it suggested a new idea…

…_Maybe your talent does not lie in dancing, young one. Have you considered any of the other arts?..._

She hadn't really. What else could she do but dance and…sing?

"Well, I don't know really. I cannot sing to well…"

The deep voice, for the first time, laughed. Christine felt a shiver cascaded up her spine. The laugher was amused, yet held a dark sense of something Christine could not put her finger or mind on. It scared her.

…_my dear, you can sing a great deal better than you think. Let me hear you once more…_

Christine was quite a taken back. She did not know what to sing, and all her memory had abandoned her. She rushed through the songs they had tried to teach her that day, but none of them held any deal of relevance. She didn't, after all, want to let the Angel hear her sing badly…

"_The rain has moved on and left a new day. _

_Hidden violets grow splashed with summer spray._

_The shadows and light, that moves with the wind,_

_Nothing seems to move everything is still._

_It's just a perfect day."_

The song had been one which her father sang to her before she slumbered of to sleep. It had made her feel calm and serene, and had the desired effect on her now. She felt so at ease with herself when she sang, like she had been lifted to another world.

But her embarrassment had now give way, and she cringed at what the 'Angel' thought of her.

…_you sing like an Angel._

Her heart floated to the sky, and she let a smile frame her face, the first one in a long time.

"Do you really think so? Oh how wonderful it would be to sing to a proper audience, like the Prima Donna! Oh, do you think I could?"

…_No. Not yet. Your voice needs training, but with time and patience, your voice could be the one all flock to hear from all over the world..._

Christine gasped slightly. She had never considered singing before, could she really become a great Opera singer like La Carlotta? Even though she had missed out very crucial years of training?

…_Christine…If you are prepared to work hard…then I could help you develop your voice…_

Her mind swam, and she took no time at all in agreeing to her new offer. All thoughts of hesitation had vanished from her mind, and all that she could think of was her new ambition. Fear had still not left her, and some part of her wanted to turn and run screaming. Yet it had been ignored to totally submission. She gave her time, voice and soul to this strange mentor, who patiently had begun her lessons.

--

What was it about this small girl that he found so appealing? Her voice was a very strong voice for such a young girl, and he had been passionate about training it the moment he had heard her haunting melody. Yet, he found himself enjoying the times when she would sit and talk for hours in the Chapel, where he would sit in a dark passage way behind the alter, to listen to her. His patience never faltered with her, and he was always prepared to give words of comfort to her. It seemed that he related to her loss in life, and was a kindred soul with its equal share of pain.

Training her had become nothing but the norm for the next few weeks. Erik would spend his time improving her posture, her expression, her projection, the different kinds of voice techniques, and mostly, her passion behind the song. But that was the least of his worries, as the little Christine would always sing with every ounce of emotion she had in her tiny frame for him, and he had to admit, she worked very hard. He often had to turn her away from rehearsal as she didn't want to stop.

One day, he had finished listening to a song she had been working on for him, a song he had wrote him self. Her voice was still very childlike and high, yet Erik knew that would fade with her age. She finished, smiling slightly. He left the praise to constructive criticism, and she drank in every word.

"Yes, I understand…ok…of course."

She had completely gave in him, hanging on every word. She sat down for a while, crossing her legs and pulling her skirts over her knees.

"I would love to hear you sing again. Please…could you?"

Erik was quite a taken back. He never sang for a request before, and he felt himself falter. Luckily she couldn't see him, and so did not see the frowning expression on his face. But yet, the song he chose to sing to her came so naturally, he surprised himself.

It was not a song of English. The foreign words tumbled out of his mouth like magic, enchanting all who could hear, that being Christine. She sat on the floor, eyes closed lightly, with her arms tingling from the raised hairs on her arms. She had never heard anything so beautiful in all her life! Only a creature of heaven could produce such divine emotions and splendour. She felt her heart breaking at his intoxicating voice.

" Promise me…" She had whispered at the end of his song. "Promise me you will never leave my side. I want you near always!"

Erik felt suddenly scared. Why was this girl creating such an effect on him? She was not like any of the others performing girls, who classed gossip and courting as an important aspect of life. This girl seemed older and wiser beyond her years. And what's more…she was asking him the one thing her would never had expected from anyone. She wanted him to watch over her. Not once had she ran from his presence, and not once had she seemed suspicious of him. He found himself giving in to her himself.

"I promise."


End file.
